13. Callum
13
CALLUM
I ’m still reeling over the mindfuck I experienced yesterday. Eloise showing up to my practice was unforeseen. I’ve been subtle but clear that I’d like Eloise to attend my home games. Whenever I walk out the door for a game, I ensure my VIP badge is on the table, but night after night, she’s been a no-show. When she told me her hesitation stemmed from wanting to keep a low profile, I knew she wasn’t exactly lying, but she wasn’t giving me the whole truth either. However, I wasn’t going to push her. Instead, I listened, collecting another half-truth. I know being here with me was wearing on her, and all the half-truths she’s been laying at my feet would eventually become whole, but I was blindsided at the rink. I had no idea the last game she attended was also the same night she found out she was pregnant with Adler.
Reliving that day with her was an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least, but I was glad for it. Seeing her show up at the rink meant the world to me, but that kiss… My God, the kiss was everything. A small piece of me wondered if I had put her on a pedestal for so long that the real deal could never live up to the version of her I romanticized. The tendril of doubt that lurked was annihilated when her mouth connected with mine. Our kiss was better than any we’ve ever shared. I couldn’t get enough. I thought I was hooked before, but after that kiss, I knew it was more than that. I’m addicted.
“That will be sixty-two dollars even,” the call-a-ride driver says, pulling me out of my thoughts as he parks in front of the roundabout of my building.
“I paid through the app and left a tip,” I tell him as I grab my suitcase.
He checks his phone for confirmation and I exit the car. I don’t care if he double-bills or flags me in the system. I’m six floors away from seeing my girl.
“Have a good day,” he says as the door closes and I double my stride.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Balfour,” Jenkins says, opening the door.
“I told you, it’s Cal. No need for formalities,” I call out over my shoulder, not bothering to stop as I hurry to the elevator, where I see a resident exiting. “Hold the door.” I rush over and barge my way in, not wanting to waste more time than I already have getting home. Eloise was going to pick me up from the airport, but after our flight was delayed for the second time leaving Buffalo, I told her I’d make arrangements.
The elevator dings, and I’m out before the doors can fully open, sprinting to the end, my fingers flying over the keypad. I’m so anxious to get inside I practically stumble through the door, drunk on missing her.
I drop my suitcase and make a ruckus coming in, and she turns from her spot at the easel, eyes wide.
“Are you okay?” she asks as she stands.
I thought I’d run straight to her. It’s what I envisioned doing since the moment I woke up this morning, but I don’t. Instead, I bolt down the hallway like a pre-teen in a hurry to read the smutty magazine he stole from the gas station and hid under his bed. I can’t help it. The second I’m a foot away from the bed, I throw my arms wide and jump, only to inhale deeply once my head hits the sheets.
Last night meant something to me. Eloise let me in. She moved the needle, I laid my truths about Blair being back at her feet, and I gave her my side of the night that ended our story. She knows everything and not only did she stay, she gave me pieces of her that she’s admitted scare her. Relationships are built on trust, and she’s trusting me.
“What are you doing?” she asks with a small laugh.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m sniffing the sheets.”
“I can see that. I’m just surprised that was your first choice.”
I roll onto my back and lace my fingers behind my head. “Why’s that?”
She crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe. “Seems like a fool’s choice, for only a fool would bypass the real deal to smell where his woman has been, when he can sample the scent direct from the source.”
My woman… I bite my lip. I fucking love that she’s admitting she’s mine, but I’m not sure what I’m more enamored with, her titles or the undertones of jealousy I hear in her tone. “Hmm, I see.” I firmly press my lips together to keep the mischievous grin off my face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree because, you see, I’m exactly where I want to be.” She rolls her eyes, and I can tell she’s more displeased than she’s letting on, which makes me happier than it should. “Can you take off my shoes?”
Her eyebrows tug together. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I twisted my back at the game last night. I’m sore, and I don’t want to move.”
Endless blue eyes narrow on mine as they search for a tell that my words are a lie, but she won’t find one. She pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed slowly. Placing her hands on her hips, she examines me for a second before bending down and removing my right shoe and then my left. Hook, line, and sinker. She fell into my trap. The second she pops up, so do I, snatching her hand and pulling her on top of me.
“Cal,” she yelps as she falls.
“See, exactly where I want to be,” I say, our lips mere inches apart. “I could smell you, but I’d rather be under you.”
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” She smiles.
“Maybe. Tell me”—my lips skim over the tops of hers—“do you still think I’m a fool?”
Her mouth covering mine is answer enough. She doesn’t think I’m a fool; she’s greedy and impatient, and I’m obsessed. Her tongue parts my lips to deepen the kiss, and I let her take her fill, following her lead. I wouldn’t be able to stop her if I wanted to. Her soft body on top of mine is a dream I was starting to lose faith in. Every year that passed and she didn’t come back began to feel like eternal damnation for a sin I didn’t know I had committed. Her fingers rake through my hair, and I let my hands drift down her hips. Our kiss deepens, and there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be, nowhere I’ll ever want to be more than I want to be right here, tangled up in her. Long minutes tick by where our mouths, bodies, and souls stay fused together until, finally, my desire can no longer stay hidden, and she feels it.
She pulls back with a smile that says she likes watching me get worked up. We both know it’s her favorite pastime. “You never finished the story.”
I flip her over, and she squeals. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific. I have lots of stories,” I say as I settle on top of her, ensuring she doesn’t leave me before I’m ready to let her go.
“Last night”—her hand finds my hip, where her fingers delicately splay over the exposed skin, pebbling it under her touch—“I asked you about these marks.”
I groan and bury my face in her neck. “Eloise,” I say her name in warning. “For someone not ready to swim, you sure are testing the waters.”
She pinches my hip hard.
“Ouch,” I growl as I pull back.
“I’m not trying to start something, and I can guess what I saw given how things played out, but you never finished the story.” She quirks a brow, and without letting my mind go too far astray, I realize she’s right.
I begrudgingly roll off and lie beside her, pick up her hand and kiss each red-tipped finger before saying, “Red, always red.” Ever since I’ve known Eloise, her nails have only been painted one color: red. The shade might change with the season, but the color always remains. “That day, these nails marked me.” I lace our fingers together. “When they started to fade, I ensured they didn’t.” She’s quiet, and I can see her processing what I’ve said, and I know what she’s going to ask before the words are spoken.
“So you hurt yourself?”
“The amount of pain I was feeling inside was nothing compared to the cuts I made on my skin.”
Her brow furrows, but her eyes soften as she moves onto her side, abandoning my hand to lift my shirt and examine the tiny white half-moons forever etched into my skin. “You said when they started to fade…” I know the reason for her pause: she’s putting together the timeline. She left those marks on my skin the day before everything fell apart. “That would mean you did this after everything happened. After you believed I left you for Arlo.”
I nod. “I’m aware. At the time, I was drowning in my anger. Every day I looked in the mirror and saw your marks, I’d rage inside. I was filled with regrets and desolation, but that misery awakened me. Walking through the hurt of losing you was the worst pain I’ve ever endured, but it’s how I knew what I had was worth it. I didn’t want those marks to ever fade. I needed them to serve as a reminder of what love looked like; if it didn’t hurt, if I didn’t feel it in my veins and the depths of my soul, then I didn’t want it.”
Her eyes flick between mine, and she shakes her head. “I wish I knew then how much you loved?—”
My phone rings loudly beside her head, where it landed when I threw myself onto the bed. I planned on silencing the call until I saw the name. “It’s your brother.”
She sits up fast. “Answer it. It could be about Adler.”
“Iverson, hey?—”
“You’re a dead man, Balfour. If Eloise doesn’t kill you herself, I will.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, my eyes zeroing in on Eloise.
“Are you serious right now? You’re on the front page of every gossip rag with a girl that isn’t my sister.”
I furrow my brow and pull up my news app and sure as fuck there’s a picture of me asleep on the team plane, but I’m not alone. Cozied up on my right with her head lying on my shoulder is Blair fucking Wyndham. I pinch the bridge of my nose and Eloise snatches the phone from my hand. She’s off the bed before I can stop her.
“Eloise, I swear that’s not what it looks like.”
Her eyes study the picture, and Iverson says, “Eloise, you’re with him?”
“Yes…” she says, biting her thumb.
“Say the word, and I’ll send the corporate plane to pick you up. I’ll have someone collect your things.”
I’m off the bed and at her front. When I reach for her, she puts her hands up. “Don’t touch me.”
My eyes widen in surprise. After everything, she’s believing this picture over what we shared and over what I know she can feel. “Eloise, that picture was taken this morning, and you know exactly where I was and who I was with last night.”
Her eyes flash up to mine, a storm brewing in the depths of her blues. “Do I? What about after?”
“Eloise—” Iverson and I say in unison.
“Stop.” She closes her eyes and tosses my phone onto the bed. “Just stop. Both of you. I need a minute.”
My heart is pounding. I’m mad and scared that she’ll say I don’t want you anymore, just like before. The next thing I know, she’s storming down the hallway. “Eloise,” I call after her, uncaring that her brother might still be on the phone. The only person I currently care about is walking away from me. She doesn’t stop, and when I see she’s going straight for the door, I pick up my step and cut her off. “Please don’t, please don’t walk out that door on me. Let me explain.”
“Get out of my way, Callum,” she demands, not meeting my eyes.
“No,” I answer, resolute in my stance. “This is what broke us apart the first time. I refuse to let it come between us now.”
Her eyes slowly rise to mine, and for a second, I believe she hears the reason behind my ask. We can’t keep running, but then she says, “The hurt in your heart as you stood in the middle of the cafeteria believing I chose your best friend over you…” She swallows hard. “Is nothing compared to feeling like the father of your child, a man you hoped would protect your heart is nothing but a selfish manipulator.”
Her words are like a punch to the gut. The pounding inside my chest as my heart tries to find a vessel more suited for survival steals my breath, but somehow, I manage to say, “Is that what you really think of me?”
She angrily runs her hands through her hair. “I don’t know. I need a fucking minute.”
I don’t know why, my mind surely doesn’t agree, but my heart manages to move my hands and feet, and I step out of the way, only to open the door for her. Letting go is hard, but holding onto someone who doesn’t feel the same is brutal. She walks out, and I close the door behind her before I do something stupid like force her to stay. When it comes to matters of the heart, nothing can be forced. You can’t make someone love you. It’s either there or it’s not. I might want her to stay, but I need her to return on her own. The only love that’s real is felt, not forced.
I let my head hit the door, and no sooner my eyes close than I hear Iverson.
“Balfour!” he yells my name. I let out a heavy sigh and trudge down the hall to my room.
“I didn’t fucking cheat on your sister. I thought you, out of everyone, would know better than to accuse me of that shit,” I spit, reclaiming my phone. Iverson has been an ally of sorts over the years. Of course, he’ll always stand beside his sister and take her side no matter what, but for whatever reason, he’s tossed me many bones over the years. Hell, Dash Westin is conveniently staying in Eloise’s condo because he got wind of the ultimatums I gave when Arlo was in town. High Tower could easily afford to put Dash up somewhere. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s probably a company policy when you send employees away on work-related travel; you have to pay their expenses. However, Iverson knew it would put Eloise and me under the same roof. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t lose my shit when Dash arrived while I was out of town. Iverson gave me the heads-up.
“Explain it to me,” he demands with a bite in his tone. Part of me wants to hang up. I have bigger fucking issues to address now that this picture leaked, but I’m also eager to tell my truth.
“The girl in the picture is Blair Wyndham?—”
“How about you start telling me the shit I don’t know. Her name is clearly posted in the article, along with a bit about how the two of you were friends in high school who recently reconnected, and your instant connection couldn’t be ignored.”
“It says all that? Christ! I can’t believe she’d boldface lie to the papers.” I pace at the foot of my bed. “I can assure you there wasn’t then, and there isn’t anything now between Blair Wyndham and me. She was hired as the team’s new publicist almost a week after Eloise arrived in town. I’ve avoided her as best I can given her new position with the team, and I thought I had made it abundantly clear she was to keep her distance from me. Last week, I threatened her and her camera guy when I caught him snapping a picture of us talking outside the team bus. I almost crushed the guy’s camera on the spot.”
I pause to breathe and he asks, “When was this picture taken?”
“On the plane ride home earlier, and I know for certain she wasn’t in that seat when I fell asleep.”
“Who was?”
I’m just about to answer when I see a call from my coach coming through. “Iverson, Coach Beck is calling. I have to take this call. Do me a favor and make sure Adler doesn’t see this picture before I have a chance to get my lawyers on this mess. I swear on my mother’s grave, your sister is the only woman I’ve ever loved. I’m going to fix this.”
“You better. If not, you may as well start digging your plot next to your mother. I won’t let you hurt her again.”
“I’ll jump in the damn hole and toss you the gun if I don’t fix this. All I want is my family. I gotta go.”
I click off the call to answer the other, and when I do, it’s gone. “Damn it!” I call Coach back. I never miss calls from Beck, but when I dial him back, it goes straight to voicemail. One more time, I dial his number for good measure, but—nothing. “How the fuck did I go from the best day ever to this?” With my hands on my hips, I breathe deep. There are a million thoughts fighting for dominance, and I try to land on one that’s actionable and doesn’t include running out my front door to her.
“Grayson.” I need to get a hold of my lawyer. My fingers quickly flick over the screen, scrolling to his number before I shoot him a text.
Callum: I want this down immediately. Defamation, slander, whatever it takes. I didn’t give my permission for this to be released, and she is most definitely not my girl.
I take a screenshot of the picture for reference and then add.
Callum: I don’t care what the costs are. I want this handled.
I stare at my phone for long seconds before chucking it hard into my pillows. “This can’t be fucking happening.” They say when you love someone, you’re supposed to set them free, but that doesn’t work for me. I head to my front door. I’ve waited. I gave her space. I’ve done this her way. I’m done. I don’t want to live without her. I can’t live without her. I throw open the front door. This ends now. Whatever happens with the tabloid shit doesn’t matter as long as I have her by my side, and I refuse to have it any other way. She’s mine. There’s no going back. I won’t allow it.
I t’s been three hours since Eloise walked out the door, and in that time, I’ve accomplished nothing more than worrying away years of my life. The first place I went was hers. I searched every room, only to come up empty, and when I tried calling her, I found her phone sitting next to the easel in my living room. The only solace I found in all this mess was that she couldn’t have gone far. It’s cold as hell outside, and she only wore jeans, a sweater, and Tieks when she left. Naturally unable to sit still, I checked the gym, the pool, and even the rooftop deck, though finding her there was highly unlikely. Unable to sit and do nothing, I walked around the block, peeking in all the windows, searching for her face, and again, nothing.
I release a long-winded breath and stare down at the street below. “Just come home, Eloise. Come back so we can work this out.” No sooner I’ve uttered the last word than it’s as though my spoken plea is answered because I hear the door across the hall close. There are only two doors at this end of the hall, which means it has to be her, but the second I open my door to get to her, Dash is there, his hand raised, ready to knock.
“Oh, it’s just you,” I say, releasing the knob, somewhat defeated.
“Nice to see you too,” he says, running his hand through his sandy-blond hair. “Don’t freak out, but there’s been an accident.”
I straighten, my heart rate immediately accelerating. “Those words don’t belong in the same sentence. What do you mean there’s been an accident? Where’s Eloise? Is she hurt?” Before he can answer, I’m crossing the hall. I heard a door close, which means he came out of there, and I’m going on a strong hunch she’s there too.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” he says, following behind me. “I had just parked my rental when I saw her slip on a patch of ice. She hit the ground hard. The fall knocked the breath from her lungs?—”
My eyes search the living room, and when they don’t land on her, I turn my panicked gaze on him. “Where is she?”
He points down the hall, and I start walking. “I tried to take her to the hospital, but she refused.”
“Why didn’t you bring her to my place?” I demand, salty that he didn’t think to bring her to me.
“Because my hands were full, and I didn’t know your door code. I took care of her, got her dry clothes, and?—”
I stop in my tracks and turn, pushing my finger into his chest hard. “Are you telling me your eyes saw what’s only mine?”
He grinds his teeth and pushes my hand away. “No… Lou and I aren’t like that. I got her clothes, an ice pack, and some ibuprofen, then I came to let you know what happened, a choice I’m quickly regretting.”
My eyes narrow on his and I take a breath. I’m not mad at him. Everything I’m feeling has nothing to do with him, and I need to get a grip on myself before I go through that door. “Thank you,” comes out. I nod toward the door. “I’ll take it from here.”
He crosses his arms. “How about we leave that for her to decide?”
I don’t bother giving his posturing a response. Instead, I open the door to her room. Nothing is going to keep me from her. The second I open the door and see her lying on the bed, her hair damp, mascara smudged, and face pained, I rush to her side. “Eloise.” I sit beside her and take her hand. “I’m so damn sorry.”
She shakes her head, and the smallest of tears slides down the side of her face. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left like that, but I couldn’t help it.”
“Lou, are you good here?” Dash asks behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off her.
She nods. “I’m fine, Dash. Thank you for saving me.”
I can’t help but clench my jaw. I hate that I feel like I’m the reason she needed saving, to begin with. The second the door closes, I reach for her cheek. “Where did you go? What happened? I’ve been going mad.”
Her hand grips mine. “I’m not telling you where I went. Then you’ll know where to find me when I need a minute to myself?—”
“Wrong. You don’t get any more minutes to yourself. I forbid it. From now on, we’ll be doing things my way, Eloise. If you want to be mad, fine, be mad, but you can do it in another room in our house. I’m not letting you leave me again. Nothing happened between me and Blair. I’d never lie to you. You’re my whole fucking world. You and Adler are the only thing I care about.”
Her hand squeezes mine. “I know.” She closes her eyes. “I knew that before I walked out, but you don’t understand?—”
“You’re right. I don’t understand because you keep shutting me out. You shut me out for six fucking years, Eloise.” She flinches, and I rein in my tone, realizing how upset I’m getting. “For too long, you’ve kept whatever it is that’s been eating you up inside to yourself,” I say, my tone softer. “If you ever expect us to be partners, and I mean true partners, then you need to be honest with me. We’ve laid our truths out there. If this isn’t about Blair, then what is it? What is it that’s eating you up inside now?” I hate seeing the worry and sadness on her face. I want to protect her, but I can’t when I don’t know what’s tearing her up, which reminds me. “And don’t worry about Blair. Consider it handled. I already have my lawyer working on it.”
Her eyes widen. “Can you call your lawyer off?” She tries to move and winces.
“Why would I do that? Why would you ask that of me?” I can’t believe that out of everything I just said, that’s the piece worrying her now. “What am I missing, Eloise? I know Blair Wyndham is a thorn in your side as much as she is mine, but…”
She releases a slow, measured breath. “I didn’t run out because I believed you were sneaking around.” I quirk a brow. She made some hateful accusations before she stormed out. “Okay, fine… a bigger part of me than I’d like to admit, a part of me that’s stuck in the past, and all the hurt that lurks there believed it, but by the time I was out of the building, I didn’t.” She pauses and tries to move.
“What is it?” I say when I see her reaching under her blanket.
“I didn’t have an ice pack. All I had was a frozen bag of broccoli. It’s not even my broccoli, so who knows how long it’s been in there, and one of the stems feels like it’s poking me.”
I pull off the cover. “I’m taking you to my place.”
“No, Cal. I’m fine. I don’t want to move. It hurts too much.”
“It’s not up for debate,” I say as I position an arm under her back and one under her knees. “My bed is softer than a vacation rental, and I have ice packs, medicine, and oils to help with injuries. You’re hurt, and you’re mine, which makes you my responsibility.”
She doesn’t argue, and for that I’m grateful. The last thing I want right now is one more thing to debate. “Where are you going?” Dash is off the couch the second he sees me carrying her out of the bedroom.
“I’m taking her to my place. I play hockey. I’ve had more than a few injuries, and I have what she needs to recover effectively.”
He reaches the door and holds it open before crossing the hall with us to open mine. “Code?”
“It’s Eloise’s birthday. Zero?—”
“Seven, one, one,” he finishes for me. I can’t help but eye him suspiciously. I know they’re friends, but memorizing her birthday seems like another level. “We share the same birthday month.” I nod, and he pushes open the door. “What can I get?”
“How long was she on the broccoli?”
“Not very long. Maybe five minutes after she changed, and I came to get you.”
“Grab me an ice pack from the freezer,” I say as I head toward my bedroom.
“Cal, take me to the spare room. You don’t need to give up your bed,” she says once I’m past the door to the guest room.
“I’m not giving up my bed. I’ll be sleeping in it.”
“And where will I be sleeping?”
“In it beside me where you belong,” I say as I prop my knee on the bed and set her down.
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“Like I said. We did things your way. Now we’re doing them my way.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but Dash steals her words. “I have the ice pack.”
He hands it to me, and I say, “Can you lift up a little so I can slide it under you?”
“I don’t want to,” she protests. “I’d rather do a heating pad or a hot bath. The ice pack will make me cold.”
My gaze drifts to her silk sleep set, where my eyes immediately lock onto her pebbled nipples. It might be shorts and a T-shirt, but any man would be blind not to see what I see. My jaw ticks, and I reach for the throw blanket at the foot of the bed, covering her before Dash can spot what’s on display. “Ten more minutes of ice, and then I’ll grab the heating pad,” I say as I cover her body.
“Fine.” She relents and lifts so I can slip the cold pad beneath her.
“Dash, in the bathroom closet, there’s a heating pad on the middle shelf. On that same shelf, there’s an amber-colored jar. It says muscle remedy on it. Can you grab those?”
“On it.” He rushes into the other room.
“Where’s my phone? I need to see if Adler tried to call. What if he saw the picture?”
I grab another pillow. “He didn’t. I talked to your brother after you left. They’re going to make sure he doesn’t see it.”
“It would break his heart if he saw that.”
“I know. Luckily for us, he’s young and not into electronics. He’d rather be helping your dad on the boats or playing in Iverson’s lighthouse.”
“Heating pad and oil,” Dash announces, rejoining us. “Anything else?”
“No, I think we’re good,” I say, taking the items. He looks between us, and I know he’s reading the room. I want him to leave, and she’s not asking him to stay, but I can tell he’s torn about leaving her.
“I’ll just be across the hall if you need anything. I slept in my rental last night when I drove up to Spencer Gorge. I’m going to order some food and fall asleep in a real bed.”
“Dash, thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I would have done had you not been there.”
“You’re too pretty for someone to just leave you to lie on the ground. You don’t remember because you were knocked out for a minute, but some kind pedestrians stopped to help. I just happened to swoop you up before they could.”
Eloise shakes her head, and he smiles.
“I’m going to go. I’ll see you tomorrow if I don’t hear from you tonight.”
“Okay,” Eloise says as he retreats.
When the door closes, I sit beside her. “Are you still cold? Do you want another blanket?”
“Can you cover my feet?”
I look down and see her red toes peeking out. I was so focused on covering her breasts I didn’t pay attention to the rest of her body.
I tug the blanket over her feet, tucking it under to ensure the warmth is trapped. “Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. Now tell me. Tell me why you don’t want me to go after Blair.”
“When I saw the picture, I was hurt. You weren’t the only one in the cafeteria that day who got their heart ripped out. I had a PTSD moment. It felt like the past repeating itself…” Her brow furrows, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s choosing her next words carefully. “Fine, I’ll just say it. I don’t want you to go after Blair because I’m not convinced she’s not here for someone else’s gain.”
Out of all the things I thought she’d say, that was not one of them. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I try to follow where she’s going, but the stress of the last few hours and finding out she got hurt has me unable to connect any dots. “You think she’s doing someone else’s bidding?”
“I do.”
“Who?” I ask, wholly confused.
Blair Wyndham was a mean girl, but Eloise had no true enemies. Even Blair knew her place to an extent. She wanted to be on my arm to take something from Eloise. I was a trophy to someone like her, as pompous as that may sound, but that’s because Eloise comes from one of the most prominent families in the US. Her family’s wealth rivaled no one we knew, and Blair hated it. It’s why she wanted me. Having me took something from Eloise.
“Your father,” she says flatly.
My eyes stay locked on hers as I process what she said and what that means. I’ve stewed over my plans to make Blair pay all afternoon. Her mother’s company is in the red, which leads me to believe she likely name-dropped to earn the contract. Using my name to get the job also explained why she’d be so bold as to risk posting that photo. She needed it to save face. But I don’t see the connection between her and my father.
“Think about it, Cal. Your father never liked us together. The few times I was forced to endure his company, he’d always make some barbed comment about how Blair was better suited for you. Now, here we are, trying to make things work, and she’s suddenly here, too. You can believe it’s all a coincidence, but I don’t.”
My eyes widen as pieces start to fall into place. “You might be onto something,” I say as I stand and pace the side of the bed. Her insinuation is not far-fetched. I wouldn’t put it past my father to make me miserable; after all, he never wanted me to have anything he didn’t have, but to what end? What does he have to gain?
“That’s why I wanted you to wait. Does that picture piss me off? Hell yes, but I also want answers. If we leave it alone and you play nice, we can find out the truth.”
“So you’re fine with the whole world believing she’s my girlfriend on the off chance she’s a pawn? Eloise, you might be okay with that, but I’m not. If I’m going public with anyone, it’s you.”
She closes her eyes and pinches her lips as she pulls the ice pad out. “It’s too cold. I want heat, and no, I’m not okay with it either, but right now, we’re overreacting because we have a history with Blair. We want to make it disappear because the scars of our past feel new again. However, tomorrow, that picture will be yesterday’s news, and we may have gained the upper hand in finding out why and or who she’s scheming for.”
“I don’t know?—”
“I knew you’d be harder to convince, but aren’t you the least curious to know who the mole is?”
I quirk a brow.
“You told me you threatened her. Do you think she believed your threats were empty, or did someone on that plane help her, someone from your team? I don’t think she’d be so foolish as to cross you and release that statement to the press unless she didn’t; someone else did. Or she’s a pawn who’s not worried about the repercussions because someone else is footing the bill.”
Damn. I hate that she’s right. I’m not sure I believe my father has anything to do with this, but Blair didn’t take that photo, and neither did her camera guy. There’s a Converse sneaker in the aisle to my left in the bottom corner of the shot that I know belongs to him, which means he wasn’t in front of me. He was beside me. I squeeze the back of my neck, thinking about yesterday’s game and my entire season, for that matter. I’ve been taking the losses hard because I’m the captain, but like the coach said, even when I’m not playing to my full potential, I’m better than most. With Eloise in town, my focus has been on her. My mental shields are down, making me an easy target. I’m being set up.
“Fine. I agree to let this play out.” She smiles like she’s won and I say, “For now, I can’t make promises. If this doesn’t blow over the way you think it will with me being tied to her”—I shake my head—“I won’t do it. There’s a reason I’m never photographed with women.”
“And why’s that?”
“They’re not you.”
She tries to stifle her smile, but the fact that I’ve made her smile all day after everything lights me up inside. A restrained smile is still a smile in my book, and that’s a win.
“Can I have the heating pad now?”
“Sure, but I want to see your back first.”
“That means I have to move,” she groans.
“Come on, I’ll help you.” I kneel beside her and place my hands underneath her back and legs.
“I can do it,” she says as she rolls over. “I just don’t want to.”
“Well, I want to ensure I’m treating you properly, which means examining the injury.” I’m careful with my next words, knowing she may not accept them. “I need to pull your shorts down, blondie.”
“Nice try, Cal. You don’t need to pull down my shorts to examine my back.”
I’d smack her ass for that sass were it not actually sore. “I won’t pull them down all the way, just enough to see the top of your tailbone. I want to check for bruising.”
“Fine,” she reluctantly agrees and turns her head slightly, “but only the top part.”
“It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before,” I flippantly add, reaching for her silk shorts.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then explain it to me, Eloise, because I don’t understand. Last night, we shared something, and you know, as much as I do, that it changed things. You can’t sit here and tell me you don’t want me in this bed with you, that I’m not the last person you want to see before you fall asleep and the first thing you want to see when you wake up. So what is it?” I say, unable to keep my tone unbothered.
“I’m not ready to fall for you again.”
Her words sting, and as much as I don’t like them. I understand them. “I’m not asking you to fall. I’m asking you to jump. I want you to dive in head-first with me. Jumping means trusting your heart when your mind is scared. Falling is easy, jumping is harder.”
“Maybe I don’t know when to jump.”
“When you’re scared, that’s when you jump. Do what scares you and excites you all at once. We can’t just hope for our happy ending. We have to believe in it, and that means trusting what’s ahead of us is a risk worth taking.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I know it’s because she wants it to. We’ve always wanted the same things, but getting on the same page has been a different fucking story. I let my words simmer and slowly roll the band of her shorts over, and when I do, I see tiny white marks on her hips that claw at my heart. Fuck. Those weren’t there the last time I had this view, and I know they’re only there now because this body carried my son. A mix of fury and love swirls inside my chest. I hate that I didn’t get to be by her side while she carried him, that I didn’t even know he was mine until he was almost two months old. I push down the hurt and roll her shorts once more. This time, I see the top of her perfectly round ass, and I bite my lip hard.
“No panties.”
“I’m in my pajamas, Cal,” she says exasperatedly.
I pull air through my nose to calm my piqued libido and remind myself I’m not here to be checking her out. I’m here to make her feel better. “You don’t have any bruising yet, which doesn’t mean it won’t come, but considering how hard Dash said you fell, I’m a little surprised I don’t see any reddening. Are you sure you fell on your tailbone?”
“I can’t be sure. I’ve never fallen like that in my life. I probably looked like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel. I had no time to correct or catch myself. One second, I was standing, and the next, I was on my back.”
“You didn’t hit your head, did you? If there’s a chance you have a concussion, I can’t let you fall asleep.”
“My head doesn’t hurt at all. The fall knocked the air from my lungs, and that, coupled with the pain in my thigh, is what made me pass out.”
“Your thigh?” I release her shorts and examine her leg. Sure enough, there’s a bruise at the top right where the hem of her shorts sits. “You must have fallen on something. I’m going to touch you in a few spots. Tell me where it hurts more.”
She nods. “Okay.” I lift her shirt enough to expose her lower back, and when my fingers touch her skin, she flinches. “Your hands are cold.”
“Oh, sorry.” I pull them back and blow hot air into my palms before rubbing my hands together to warm them up.
This time, when I bring them back, she doesn’t quiver.
“Better.” I lightly press the tips of my fingers into her ribcage, working my way to her sides.
It isn’t until I get to her hips that she hisses. “That’s tender.” I gently work my way to the middle of her back, and she squeaks again before saying, “It hurts a little.”
Running my thumbs up her spine, I let my palms slide over her ribs, ensuring I feel no bumps or dips. “Does it hurt to breathe?”
“No. Why? What does that mean?”
“That’s good. If breathing was hard, it could mean you popped a rib out of place, but I think we’re dealing with nothing more than a hard fall. See that amber bottle on my nightstand?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a mix of cypress oil and sandalwood. I use it to help with inflammation and swelling when I get sore. It will help relieve the tension. Right now, I can feel your muscles slightly spasming every time I slide over a tender area. That will help. I’m going to rub it on your back and your thigh, and after that, you can lie on the heat for fifteen minutes.”
I get off the bed and untie the heating pad, then plug it behind the side table and prepare it for when I’m finished with her massage.
“Cal, I’m not sure about the oil.”
“Why?”
She gives me a knowing look.
“You don’t think I can keep my hands to myself?” I tease, kicking my shoes off and climbing onto the bed before she can respond. “Can I pull your shirt up more?”
She tenses from the question alone. I’m making her uncomfortable, but I know it’s not the bad kind. If she wants all of this to stop, all she needs to do is say the word, but I want her to enjoy the massage.
“Let me make you feel good, blondie. In hockey, trainers are constantly using oils to relieve muscle aches. I promise I’ll keep it PG.”
She takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she relents.
I squirt the oil into my palms and rub them together, warming it before starting high on her back. My hands have made no more than two circular motions before I hear the tiniest of moans. She likes it. I stay there a little longer before slowly working my way down toward the tender areas I know won’t be as pleasurable. “If it’s too much, tell me,” I say as I lightly squeeze her hips before delicately applying pressure with my thumbs and working my way to her spine. She hisses, and I ask, “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, it’s okay. It hurts, but I can feel the oils relaxing my muscles.”
I dip my thumbs below the band of her shorts, following her spine until I hit the dimples that rest high on her back above the swell of her round ass. I move my thumbs in circular motions, which draws out a low, sultry moan, and my cock can’t help but notice. I let my hands linger, losing myself a little to the scene unfolding before me. She’s covered in oil beneath my hands, in my bed. Fuck. I pull my hands away, and she whimpers.
“Why did you stop?”
I grab my dick and count to three. You’re almost done. You’ve kept it PG. You said you’d make her feel good, and you’ve kept your promise. “I’m going to move to your thighs…” My voice cracks as I try to stifle my desire. I clear my throat. “Our nerve endings run down our legs, and since your right thigh is bruised, I’m sure there’s tension that needs to be rubbed out.” I shake my head when I hear the unintentional double meaning in my words. Idiot. I reach for the oil, and as I pour more into my hands, my eyes trail over her long, lean, toned thighs, and my good intentions are tested. I told her I wanted to make her feel good, and the devil sitting on my shoulder is grinning from ear to ear, chanting, ‘Yeah, you said you’d make her feel good. She’s not wearing panties. Slip those shorts to the side and make her feel good!’
I shake my head to clear the fog and start above her knees, massaging each leg. Her soft skin responds, pebbling after every knead as I gently rub my way up her thighs. The higher I go, the more my better judgment slips away. It’s not easy to be this close to exactly where I want to be, with only a thin piece of silk separating me from heaven. My hands creep higher, and her moans pick up in an intoxicating crescendo. I can’t be sure if she’s lost to the sensations of the massage or if her response is more, perhaps in the same vein as the direction my thoughts have gone, because I’m sure her right leg moved an inch when my thumb brushed over the weight of her cheek as it dipped down between her legs to knead the muscle. I want her to let me in. I know she gave me warnings. She says she’s not ready, but are we ever really prepared? When I told her I wanted her to jump, she said she didn’t know the right time. Maybe she’s figured out what I already know. There’s no wrong time between us.
I repeat the move, my hands massaging the base of her thighs right below her cheeks. It would be so easy to move just a little closer. The thought hasn’t even finished before she’s subtly spreading her legs once more, and fuck me if this time it wasn’t intentional. My right thumb is now on her bare pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I don’t say anything. I don’t want her to get in her head, but I know she’s aware of where my finger is, and she isn’t pulling away.
I keep kneading her thigh just as I was before she moved with my left hand, not missing a beat, but as I do, I let my right thumb dip in closer, so close I can feel her slickness. When she doesn’t protest, I slowly run it down her center, my heart pounding, expecting a rejection. I don’t want her to leave this bed, but I also don’t want to take ten steps back because I read this wrong and she wasn’t ready. I’m a starved man, and right now, it’s incredibly hard not to think with my dick.
My forefinger slides between her cheeks, the tip lightly skimming between them enough for her to know what I’m doing, and she doesn’t stop. I dip my finger lower, and it’s immediately slickened by her wetness. I tease her entrance, running it along her lips, waiting for her to tell me to stop, and when she doesn’t, I slide in. My God, she’s so soft, so warm, so tight. But all that is nothing compared to the way she clenches my digit. She wants it. She wants me. I use my other hand and continue kneading her thigh, keeping up the massage act as I slowly start to pump her with my finger.
With every stroke, her greedy pussy clamps tighter. The thin fabric that had been covering her falls to the side, and I catch sight of her juices covering my finger. My cock strains hard against the zipper of my jeans. I add another digit, and her soft moans return, drawing my hooded gaze to her face. Her eyes are closed, her pretty mouth is parted, and her hand is fisted in the blankets beside her face. She wants this, and that’s when I find my words.
“Does it feel good?”
Her eyes snap open, my voice breaking through the trance that settled over her, and I have the answer to my earlier question. The massage relaxed her. It opened her heart, and she shut out her mind, listening instead to what feels right rather than giving in to whatever poison holds her back. She wants this but only this.
Her tongue quickly moistens her lips. “Yes.” She attempts to keep her voice even, which doesn’t sit right with me. She might need this guise to reconcile her reasons for allowing this to happen, but I don’t.
I shove in a third digit, the resounding moan it rips out of her chest undeniable. This isn’t fake. I’m behind her, giving her what she wants and making her feel good as promised. She doesn’t get to act like this is only a massage. “Who’s making you feel good, blondie?”
“You are,” she gasps as her pussy starts to contract around my fingers.
“Say it, say my name,” I bite out.
“You are, Callum,” she breathlessly pants as her pending orgasm starts to dig its claws in.
A bead of pre-cum leaks from my tip. My fingers are soaked, and my girl is panting my name. I’m so fucking turned on. I could come with her if only my lust could conquer the annoyance that’s built inside of me from only giving her this much. I want everything. I only get a taste because she’s still holding onto her secrets, and while I might be getting closer to bringing down her walls, swallowing the fact that they still exist at all, even after all we’ve revealed, isn’t easy.
“What’s next, Eloise? When does it get to be me?” I growl the torment I feel inside, unable to stay quiet any longer.
I shove my fingers deep and curl them, remembering her body as though it were mine.
“It’s you now,” she gulps as her legs go rigid.
“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
“Cal…” she cries my name as her walls spasm around my fingers.
Fuck. This is supposed to feel different. Her speaking my name as she falls into a beautiful oblivion is a dream come true, but she didn’t say yes. She didn’t say I want you. I bitterly pull out my fingers and get off the bed, unable to spend another second in the only place I want to be. I can’t breathe her in. I can’t look at her. I don’t want to be mad. I just want her, and because that’s not on the table, I have to leave.
“Ten minutes on the heating pad,” I say hoarsely before closing the door to the en suite harder than intended. Chest heaving, I slide down the back of the door and unbutton my pants, back to old habits since love is a savage bitch.